Catching Stars
by strawberryfinn
Summary: What happens if nobody believes you except the one person who shouldn't? When a girl is raped, conflict arises and she falls for the enemy. Humankind disappoints us repeatedly but love is like the stars and saves us everytime. Finchel Finn/Rachel RAPE AU
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: Hey guys! I started writing this as an original story around five years ago. My writing style has changed a lot but I dug it up and found some old ideas I liked, so I tried to revive it as a Finchel fanfiction. Lol c: This is similar to my Tryan High School Musical fanfiction called _Stolen Light _that you can check out under username _FallingWithGrace, _but it's very different at the same time.

Things you should notice: this is completely AU. I'm going to use some of the characters characteristics on _Glee _but as you will see everything is different. I hope you enjoy regardless!

**Summary**: What happens if nobody believes you except the one person who shouldn't? When a girl is raped, conflict arises and she falls for the enemy. Humankind disappoints us repeatedly but love is like the stars and saves us everytime. Finchel AU

**Warning**: language, rape, sexual abuse, self-harm, bullying, etc.

**Rating**: M

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><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

****_catch a falling star and put it in your pocket_

_never let it fade away_

* * *

><p>When Rachel is five, Shelby loses her at an airport. Shelby is checking in her suitcases and is having heated debate with the airline employee about the weight of her baggage when she turns around and Rachel is gone.<p>

"Rachel?" Shelby calls. Her heartbeat races up immediately and she pulls her hand through her hair. "Rachel? Where are you?" Images of kidnapped children posters flood her mind and she tries desperately to block them out. Her voice climbs in desperation as she whirls around, eyes searching for her daughter. "Rachel, where are you?"

The employee behind the desk—Dan, Shelby's mind manages to register as her eyes rest briefly on his nametag—looks at her worriedly. "Ma'am, is everything alright?"

_No, how can everything be alright?_ Shelby wants to scream at him, but her voice falters and she looks at him helplessly. "I don't know where my daughter is." The statement is terrifying—an admission to her failure at motherhood, her irresponsibility as a caretaker.

Dan's voice is infuriatingly calm as he adjusts his tie. He makes an uncomfortable noise in his throat. "What does she look like ma'am?" he asks, crinkling up his nose so that his mustache looks like a dancing accordion across his upper lip. "What is her name?"

"Her name is Rachel and she's five," Shelby struggles to keep her voice steady, knowing very well that she's bordering on hysteria. "She has dark brown hair and brown eyes. She's wearing…" she trails off, her mind running leaps ahead of her as she attempts to remember what she had dressed Rachel in that morning. "She's wearing pink overalls and white Velcro light-up shoes. And…" her voice breaks and trails off, "I don't know where she is."

Images of Rachel's face flash through her head. Rachel, shiny brown hair tied in two tousled pigtails with green scrunchies. Rachel laughing, Rachel crying, Rachel looking out of the window of her car and asking her why the cars were moving so fast. Rachel grinning with a mouthful of Lucky Charms. Rachel singing along to Shelby's mixed tapes and squealing with happiness. All the pictures come to a screeching halt as she realizes this is what happens when your child disappears.

You finally appreciate her.

"Rachel?" Shelby calls again, her head spinning. She feels a touch on her shoulder and whirls around wildly, expecting to see Rachel with a gap in her bottom teeth, covered in Nutter Butter crumbs, and asking for ice cream or a juicebox. But it is only Dan who now has contacted the airport security. One gruff, stern-looking man—Robert, his tag says—looks at her and hooks his fingers in the belt loop of his black pants. "Ma'am, what does your daughter look like?"

Shelby feels somebody—not her—answering the questions. She sees herself take out a faded picture of Rachel from her purse, her fingers trembling uncontrollably as Robert studies the smiling, bright girl in the photograph. Her mind continues to race with pixilated images of her daughter as the words float above her. _How old is she? What is she wearing? When did you last see her? Have you talked to her about strangers before?_

At the last question Shelby freezes up. Has she talked to Rachel about strangers? She is pretty sure she has but maybe it was something she'd been planning to get around to. She imagines Rachel walking off, her hand clutched in a stranger's—a stranger who promises ice cream and American Girl dolls. She imagines Rachel laughing and following the stranger into a car and then…Shelby shuts her eyes, unable—no, afraid—to think any further.

She whispers silent apologies to her daughter in her head. _I'm sorry I didn't watch you. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I didn't notice you were missing. I'm sorry I didn't take you to Disneyland even though you asked me so many times. I'm sorry I missed your talent show at school. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I loved you enough…_

Shelby jerks out of her reverie as Robert taps her on the shoulder again. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to stay here so I know where to find you if I find Rachel."

Shelby nods numbly, "if" the only word truly registering. If they find Rachel? _If?_ If they don't find her, where is she? Is she dead?

She waits until Robert leaves and then immediately darts off in spite of the security guard's orders. "Rachel?" she calls, running through crowds of mothers and Asian tourists that flank the entrances of the aiport. "Rachel?" She presses her face to the ground to check for the light-up Powerpuff girl shoes under the wheels of the suitcases; she searches frantically in the women's restrooms.

Rachel is nowhere to be found and Shelby suppresses an incredible urge to scream.

"Rachel…" her voice trails off hopelessly.

Half an hour later, Shelby crumples to the floor, holding her head in her hands as she blinks back the tears that threaten to overwhelm her. Her daughter is gone. _Her daughter is gone._ Families rush by and stare: mothers clutched their kids furiously to their sides as if Shelby's bad luck is contagious.

Cutting into her thoughts, a voice comes over the intercom of the airport. "Shelby Corcoran, please come to the Lost and Found. Shelby Corcoran."

Shelby's head perks up when she heard this: have they found Rachel? Her heart beats fast in her chest; she scrambles up from the ground and runs to the Lost and Found section—sprinting so quickly that she slams into a passerby. Not bothering to apologize to the sputtering civilian on the dirty, tiled floor of the airport she continues, her heart lifting tremendously when she sees the familiar small face and bright smile on the little girl standing in front of the Lost and Found booth, drinking soda from a plastic McDonald's cup. All that she can think of is how fitting the name "Lost and Found" is. Rachel had been lost and Rachel has been found. Now Rachel is being returned to her rightful owner—Shelby, her mother. Shelby tried to push out the idea that lurks in the back of her mind: what if Rachel hadn't been found and returned?

With a sigh of relief Shelby runs up to her daughter and hugs her close to her chest like she'll never let go. She stands up after about a minute, her hand still squeezed tightly around her daughter's when she suddenly notices the lanky, long-haired teenage boy standing there. He smells like French fries and greasy hamburger meat and Shelby takes in his McDonald's hat placed almost jauntily on his head. She realizes that this is her daughter's… and _her_ savior.

"Thank you," Shelby murmurs breathlessly to the stranger. "What can I do to repay you?" Her grip on Rachel's hand tightens. Rachel protests and jerks away with a whine.

Shelby grabs her back immediately, scooping her daughter into a pile and pressing her close against her own chest.

"Next time just watch her a little fucking better," the teen spits at Shelby and simply walks away, leaving one raised middle finger at Shelby behind his back.

Shelby is as speechless as the man behind the Lost and Found booth. Rachel looks up at Shelby and says proudly, "Joel gave me French fries and Coke. I told him I was lost and then he found you."

Shelby bursts into tears and presses Rachel's head close to her chest. Rachel mutters again in disapproval and looks up hopefully, her chocolate eyes bright. "Can we get ice cream now?"

Shelby nods numbly. "Yeah, let's go get ice cream," she says, her voice a shuddery gasp. "Anything you want, sweetheart."

They go get ice cream.

This is the first time Shelby ever loses Rachel and she swears to herself it will never happen again.

But it does.

It happens many more times after that. Shelby lets down her guard because she figured incidents like this will never happen again—she lets her guard down because no one was hurt and everything turned out fine.

Shelby often wonders what would have happened if Rachel hadn't found a trustworthy person to get help. What if she had asked for help from a dangerous criminal, perhaps, who would kidnap her and torture her and ultimately kill her? What if she had asked for help from a child molester? What happens if the next time Rachel gets lost she trusts the wrong person?

The person that Rachel had trusted—the dark, shaggy-haired teenager—isn't the type of person Shelby would have trusted. But as Rachel grows and develops, becoming even more and more bright, Shelby understands that her daughter's trust is based in the type of people her mother would never approach. As Rachel grows older she befriends all different types of kids with whom Shelby would never have associated.

But then again, the people who appear trustworthy—the people who appear good—sometimes are the ones who aren't. The people who appear untrustworthy—the people who appear bad—sometimes are the ones that we must depend on.

Eleven years later, Rachel makes the mistake of trusting the wrong person.

And that makes Shelby realize that she should have never left her daughter alone after that incident at the airport. She should have never let her guard down. She should have assumed the worst because ultimately humankind disappoints everybody. Ultimately man is out to hurt.

Because the world is a cruel place. And you can't trust people if you want to make it.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Review for more! I will reply to all reviews (if they can be replied to with more than a "thank you" lol). This is just a lot of foreshadowing in a prologue... the next chapter should be longer!

(And yes, Shelby is Rachel's real mom in this AU fic).

-sf


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for the reviews-they mean a lot to me. I'm glad you guys are enjoying it and I would really love to hear what you think c: This is a longer chapter for you!

Things you should notice: this is completely AU. I'm going to use some of the characters characteristics on _Glee _but as you will see everything is different. I hope you enjoy regardless!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters of _Glee. _I do own this plotline

**Summary**: What happens if nobody believes you except the one person who shouldn't? When a girl is raped, conflict arises and she falls for the enemy. Humankind disappoints us repeatedly but love is like the stars and saves us everytime. Finchel AU

**Warning**: language, rape, sexual abuse, self-harm, bullying, etc.

**Rating**: M

**Pairing**: Finn/Rachel Finchel

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><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE<strong>

_catch a falling star and put it in your pocket_

_save it for a rainy day_

* * *

><p>There is nothing worse in the world than being a teenage girl, Rachel decides. She stares down the hallway as she leans against her locker, holding her scuffed canvas tote bag adorned with a large, single gold star on her shoulder. She watches Harmony Woods and Lindsey Kinsington in the hallway swapping lipgloss tubes and Maria Romanov across the aisle slowly applying thick chunks of mascara onto her eyelashes. She sees Arden Mayer flattened to her locker by her boyfriend Devon Washington as he kisses her passionately. She looks as Julia Lazzari breaks up with her on-and-off boyfriend Daved Hilton for the fifth time in three days and knows they'll be back together by the end of the day. And as she crumples down to the floor clutching her bag, she realizes, that in spite of everything, she is truly invisible.<p>

She sits there on the tiled floor of McKinley High by her locker and buries her head in her arms. She remembers how when she was little she'd cover up her eyes and make believe that nobody could see her. Unfortunately, she doesn't have to cover up her eyes in high school; nobody can see her regardless. In spite of everything—in spite of her snagging up lead roles in past school plays, in spite of her signing up for clubs—almost nobody realizes she's there, and the few that do treat her like crap.

Rachel peeks under her arm and checks her watch. _Shit._ She has forty-seven seconds to get to Chemistry which is in a completely different building. She scrambles up immediately, scraping her bare knee on the ground in the process. Muttering to herself, Rachel readjusts her bag and turns only to turn and see _him._

Finn Hudson. The most popular boy in the junior class. _The _boy.

Rachel knows that he has English next and after that, US History. US History is the only class they have together and it is most likely because of him that her US History grade is at a B+ instead of the A that it should be at. Even she has to admit that she spends most of class gawking at his dimpled smile and bright eyes and broad shoulders.

Rachel looks back at Finn as he brushes past her, his muscular arm skimming hers, without even glancing at her. Her heart flutters in her chest and she stares after him, taking in his smooth, closely cut light brown hair.

Rachel flushes when she realizes her mouth is slightly open, pulls her totebag to her side, and starts off to Chem.

She knows everything there is to know about Finn. She knows he had feathery, dark brown hair that smells so good it's almost sinful. She knows his eyes are bright and friendly and brown, and that when he smiles, his eyes laugh with his mouth. She knows that he smells like Listerine mint and boy and fabric softener, and that his voice is smooth and cool like a brick of dark chocolate. She knows that he his football jersey number is 17, his favorite drink is Hansen's Cherry Vanilla Soda mixed with Dr. Pepper, and that his star sign was Cancer. She knows his locker number is 103 and that the combination is 15-23-19. She knows his favorite food is a grilled cheese sandwich with tapatio and a little guacamole but that usually he's just content with grilled cheese or a plate of peanut butter cookies. She knows that he struggles with math and that he has a habit of pulling on his nails when he's nervous. She knows that his best friend is Noah Puckerman. She knows he lives with his single father—Christopher Hudson, who is also the coach of McKinley High's football team. She knows that Finn's mom ran off to California when Finn was ten and she also knows better than to bring it up.

He also, incidentally, is her next-door neighbor of eight years.

Rachel and Finn had been friends—never very close, but friends or at least acquaintances nonetheless—in the years before high school. They would wave to each other in the hallways of middle school and sometimes Christopher would drop off Finn at Rachel's house for Shelby to watch and vice-versa. Then high school had come along and Finn had been whooshed away in a cloud of popularity and Rachel…well Rachel had stayed. As had her feelings for him.

Rachel's breath catches when she sees him and her stomach flips over and does somersaults, but Rachel is also practical. Finn is completely out of her league and she can't compete with the stick-thin, dermatologist-skin, teeth-whitened cheerleading Cheerios that basically throw themselves at him.

Plus, now that her mom and his _dad _are dating, it's even more awkward. Rachel had slightly (and selfishly) hoped that when Christopher asked Shelby out, Finn would have been appalled and tried to break them up with her, but frankly, Finn is too nice. He told Rachel that he thought his dad needed a chance and hadn't pursued the matter any further.

So Rachel analyzes her ranking on the social ladder and retreats back into the dark corner of her anti-social, unpopular life and tries to make herself give up her futile attempts for the boy of her dreams.

Oh, if only her feelings could be as practical.

**ooooo**

To put it in the simplest terms, Shelby Corcoran loves routine. She thrives on it, actually. She likes knowing that she wakes up at 6:30 everyday and meditates for fifteen minutes. Then she goes into the kitchen of her one-story, rather small house and puts waffles in the toaster or cereal and soymilk on the table for Rachel. She likes knowing that she will go into her daughter's room and knock gently on the door, telling Rachel to wake up, even though Rachel is also a creature of routine and will already be up and out of her bedroom to take a shower. And about fifteen minutes after that, Rachel will come downstairs and have breakfast, and Shelby will drive her to school. She knows that Rachel will lightly protest because she has her license and wants to drive, but Shelby will argue that they only have one car and she, as the only source of income in the Corcoran-Berry family, needs it. (She also gets a secret satisfaction out of her knowledge that Rachel really prefers her mom to drive).

Rachel can never argue with that logic and usually will quite sullenly shut up, until her favorite song comes on the radio, where she'll pause long enough to belt it with her mother and then end up smiling, her eyes laughing and her white smile bright and toothy in her face. Shelby will smirk wickedly, Rachel will give her mother a kiss, and then she will clamber off to school to hang out with her peculiar friends.

Then Shelby will go to work as a musical director in the local downtown area on the intersection of Willow and Viola. She's been working quite intensenly with a new glee club called Vocal Adrenaline, and it's endlessly impressive to her how much they have improved. (She has to attribute much of their climb in performance to her directing, though).

Shelby loves Lima; she loves the closeness of it. Shelby loves walking into Paul's and knowing that Margaret will immediately put on a tuna melt for her; she loves going to Wilson's bakery and watching Frederick Wilson putting a loaf of squaw bread into a plastic bag with another bag of apple butter. She loves walking into the Lima Bean and knowing that the barista will automatically write down a medium drip for her.

After passing a day teaching—working and then going places after she closes her studio, Shelby will pick Rachel up from school and cook dinner while her daughter does her homework. And that was a weekday, with the intermittent ballet or voice lesson. Shelby is quite pleased that her daughter has inherited Shelby's own incredible vocal range—Rachel is, Shelby must admit, much better than Shelby ever was at her age. She might even have a shot at Broadway, if she wants it, and knowing her daughter, Rachel does.

On the weekends, Shelby and Rachel go do something together usually, just the two of them. Recently though, Rachel has been spending more time with her friends, and Shelby tries to keep herself entertained without going outside of her comfortable boundaries.

This is why she had hesitated when Christopher Hudson first asked her out. Men were outside of routine and Shelby didn't know if she could face that. The last man in Shelby's life had been Hiram Berry and he had been so stable and had done so well in the role for Rachel as a father, Shelby didn't think she could replace him.

And she was afraid of being hurt.

And that's when Christopher Hudson, with his strong shoulders and calm personality, told her he wasn't trying to be a replacement. Christopher honestly just wanted to get to know her; he just wanted a woman in his life and he had finally found a woman that looked like she might be the _one_.

Shelby knows enough about Christopher from what Rachel has told her. About Carole Hudson who ran off to California to live with the sleazy hippie. About how Christopher is an _incredible_ football coach who pushes the boys hard, but not too hard. About how he lets them enjoy football and coaches them to _win._ About how both he and Finn know how to cook and how they alternate—just one of their bonding experiences as father and son. About how he is nice to everybody at school and always salutes Rachel in the hallways with a cheeky grin. Shelby could not have met a more routine-like man.

Shelby ponders over these definitions of herself and her life and how she coccoons herself in routine as she cups her hands around a coffee cup in the Lima Bean, feeling the heat wash over her fingers. Her strand of dark brown hair curls over one shoulder, and she shrugs it off absentmindedly. She has a date with Christopher after she picks up Rachel and she sighs wistfully, hoping the day will pass more quickly.

It is said that opposites attract, but in this case, it is simply quite the contrary.

Shelby has found a profoundly perfect man and she doesn't want to let go.

**ooooo**

Finn stands in his kitchen, rummaging through his refrigerator, thinking, _What on earth am I going to eat tonight?_ He rakes a hand through his brown hair, his forehead creasing as he glances into the fridge. He pushes past a paper carton of leftover chow mein from when he and his dad had gone out because McKinley's football team won their third game in a row, throws a molding turkey sandwich into the trashcan, and sighs. Apart from a messy looking dump of lasagna and a jar of strawberry jam and a carton of milk two days past the expiration date their fridge is almost completely empty. He shakes his head and taps his fingers absentmindedly on the hard white door of the refrigerator. Ever since his dad has started dating Shelby, Christopher usually forgets to restock their food supply, leaving Finn to forge for himself.

Finn closes the door and fumbles his pocket absentmindedly with his left hand until he grabs his wallet. Flipping it open, he sees a twenty and immediately thinks _dinner._ Finn grabs his jacket from the kitchen chair and pulls it on before he walks out into the cold Ohio air.

His breath is framed in puffy white clouds as his faded black Converse slap against the slippery pavement. It's not snowing yet, but it's predicted that the snow will start soon—maybe three to four weeks from now. He comes to a stop at his car and stares at it in earnest. His baby. The barely functional Mustang with its chipped faded blue paint is old and battered, but to Finn it can't be any more perfect. He paid for all of it with his own money (excluding the $1,000 his dad had given him for his seventeenth birthday) that he'd earned from his job bagging at the local grocery market. He runs his fingers lightly over his car's hood, over flecked paint and wonders how much a new jar of paint would cost so he could give his car a new and fresh coat. He also thinks that he probably should have brought gloves and worn boots because it was _freezing _outside.

Pulling his jacket closer to himself, he opens his car door and fishes in his pockets for his keys. Putting his keys into the ignition, he backs out of his driveway so quickly he almost runs over his neighbor Rachel.

"Shit!" he yells out loud as he swerves, narrowly missing her. "God!"

His heart races—she seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He pulls his car to a screeching stop and rolls down his window, breathless, as he stares at Rachel. She's tiny and small and delicate in her pink winter coat and looks even more pathetic as she shakes in shock. "God, Rachel, I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she stammers and then looks down at the ground. She raises one of her brown boots over the other, nervously scuffing the tip of one with the heel of the other. Her hair falls in small curls; her dark, bold bangs frame her face, and he momentarily thinks she's really pretty before he realizes he needs to apologize.

"God, Rachel, I'm really so sorry. I didn't see you—can I make it up to you? Where are you going?" When Finn is nervous he tends to babble, and that's the case right now.

Rachel's voice is nervous and bell-like, and it rings through the winter sky. "Um I was just going to get dinner because my mom's out and there's-"

"No food in the fridge, right?" Finn gives Rachel an easy, lopsided smile. Rachel seems to relax a little at that, and Finn only smiles more.

Rachel feels her heart hammer in her chest as she tries to suppress her pure excitement at being acknowledged by Finn. "Yeah, exactly."

"Well seeing that I almost ran you over, I think it's only right I take you to get something to eat," Finn says casually as he taps his fingers on his steering wheel. "If Peaches is okay with you," he notes, referring to the popular teen hangout that serves chic small plates of popcorn chicken and freshly made French fries and fresh spring salads. The _only_ teen hangout in Lima besides the Lima Bean. (He thinks Rachel is vegan, or vegetarian at the least, but he's not sure. Good thing Peaches has salads).

"Yeah, Peaches is fine," Rachel says, standing awkwardly in the street. Her brown hair spills out of her hood and her face is bright and pinched in the cold. She just stares at him, almost in disbelief.

"I swear, I'm not that bad of a driver," Finn tells her after waiting for about thirty seconds. He pats the chair next to him.

"Oh," Rachel says, her face flushing. "Yeah, I know. Sorry I just completely spaced for a few seconds." _I thought I was dreaming._

She carefully gets in his car, clutching her purse close to her side as she inhales the scent of Finn's Mustang. The smells of hay and boy and pine floods her senses and she feels the car's patent leather seats with her hands. She fastens her seatbelt, Finn giving her an relaxed, easygoing smile, and they start off.

There is silence, except for the low, steady beats of REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" in the background. Finn hums along absentmindedly, belting out a couple of notes until he realizes that Rachel hasn't said anything.

He glances over her, and catches her eyes on the dream catcher hanging from his car's rear-view mirror. She notices him looking at her, and flushes, the color filling her face and making her look vibrant and healthy, her eyes huge and doe-like in her face. Finn gives her a gentle smile.

"You like it?" he asks absentmindedly, pulling his eyes back onto the road. He uses one hand to fiddle with the heater and soon warm air is puffing through the vents.

Rachel shivers and pushed her hands up into her armpits.

"I love it," she answers honestly as she watches the tan dream catcher with grey feathers move rhythmically with the motions of the car.

"My daddy got it for me," Finn tells her as Rachel turns to look at him. "He gave it to me when I was eight. I'd been having all these nightmares," he chuckles as he stopped at an intersection. "I'd been having all these nightmares and he told me that the dream catcher would catch them and I'd only have good dreams."

"Did it work?" Rachel's voice hitches onto a higher note as she studies her chipped nails which are painted a bright fuschia.

"Yeah," Finn rubs his neck against the collar of his shirt to stop the itching. "Yeah, it actually did. I didn't have any bad dreams at all; the dream catcher caught all of them. I was really surprised kind of; I'd wake up with like _rocks_ in it and I'd think they were my nightmares. But then I wondered if something that huge and scary could be compressed into little pebbles." He laughs breathlessly. "Haha you must think I'm crazy or something but it really worked; if I'd known before that they helped block out bad stuff so easily, I definitely would've gotten one earlier."

"I believe you." Rachel looks at him with her wide brown eyes. Finn notices that her dark lashes frame her eyes perfectly and that she has a dash of small freckles across her nose. "I just wish escaping was so easy for everyone. I mean, there are people who really need some escaping in this world," she leans back in her chair. Her voice sounds sad and low and sweet, and Finn can't help but notice the slight tremor in her tone.

"Hey, here," Finn says as he rolls into the parking lot in front of Peaches. They can hear the music pulsing out of the restaurant already. Finn reaches over Rachel's lap and opens up the glove compartment above her knees, his arm slightly brushing her thighs. He pulls out a dream catcher—a feathery pink-leathered one with white feathers—and hands it to her. "Catch some badass nightmares for me, will you? See if any rocks end up in it and tell me."

Rachel takes it breathlessly from his hand and slips it into her jacket, right next to her heart. "I will."

And for once, she almost believes that getting through life is this easy.

**ooooo**

"Wait, so _what _happened?" Tina asks skeptically as she pushes a strand of her dark black and blue-streaked hair behind one ear. She cocks her head as Rachel rolls her eyes and says again, "Nothing really _happened._ We just went out to dinner—well Peaches—and it was just really, really cute and-"

"Did he make you pay for your food?" Tina interrupts Rachel as she takes a bite of her organic peanut butter sandwich. She leans across the table toward Rachel in interest. "Because if he did than your idea of cute is delusional."

Next to her, Blaine laughs so hard he spits out a grape he has just put in his mouth. He runs his hand through his tousled, chocolate hair and grins his toothy smile, his gold-flecked hazel eyes glinting with mirth.

Tina flicks the saliva-covered grape casually off her black-skirt clad lap and looks expectantly at Rachel. "So did he make you pay?"

"No," Rachel answers her, her cheeks flushing in delight. "No, he paid. It was really sweet-"

Tina cuts her off again before she can finish.

"He probably just felt bad because he almost ran you over with that beat-up Mustang of his," she counters rationally, tying the laces on her black combat boots.

"Gees Tina," Rachel's smile fades a little as she leans back in the chair at their lunch table. "For somebody who's so logical you do a lot of very peculiar things," referring to the collection of Tina's bizarre quirks.

"Like what?" Tina slowly chews her mouthful of her coarse, brown bread and peanut butter as she eyes Rachel suspisciously with her eyeliner-streaked brown eyes. With her free hand she taps the table rhythmically; her fingernails are painted jet black to match the rest of her outfit.

Blaine, who hasn't said a word thus far, falls over onto his side laughing. His eyes crinkle up at the sides as he chuckles. Rachel and Tina simply stare at him until he straightens with a cough, adjusting his deep red bowtie.

"Sorry," he apologizes. He doesn't really look sorry at all, though.

"Well anyways," Rachel continues, giving a threatening look to Tina who interrupts her again, "he just had popcorn chicken and fries and I had a salad with sweet potato fries, and then we just talked about random things. And then we went outside and looked at the stars until he just drove me back home and I did my homework until like two in the morning."

"Sounds just lovely," Blaine puts in, a genuine smile plastered on his face. He runs his fingers under Rachel's chin affectionately, laughing as she squeals and pushes his hand away.

"It was. And let me tell you, the boy can _sing_," Rachel tells him, protesting as Blaine runs his fingers over the back of her hand. Her voice arches onto a higher note, and she changes the subject, feeling for some reason, that she wants to keep her moments with Finn private. "And how was your date last night with Kurt?"

"Eh, Kurt came over 'to do homework'," Blaine answers, quoting with his hands. "And then we ended up just fooling around instead. _No_ sex," he immediately puts in after Tina arches an eyebrow, "just watching _Project Runway _and _When Harry Met Sally _and looking at _Vogue _magazines. And then we kissed a little bit and spooned. I got to be the little spoon this time." His face lights up with delight, his mind obviously on another boy.

"As fascinating as your life with you and your boyfriend sounds (and might I say, you two are pretty gay), I need attention right now." Tina looks seriously at the both of them. "Mr. Hutchinson is being really difficult and not giving me extra time to do my report."

"Tina, it's not his fault that you are terrified of public speaking," Rachel says cautiously, with a hint of pity, knowing how furious Tina can get when being told about her weaknesses. In spite of her calmness with her friends, both Blaine and Rachel know Tina has the propensity to begin stuttering wildly in front of a full classroom.

"You'll be sorry when I throw up in front of everyone," Tina says darkly, and she promptly stands up and walks away, her skirt swishing behind her above her black fishnets. She steals the remainder of Blaine's grapes as she leaves.

"Damn," Rachel says quietly as she stares after Tina's retreating figure. "Blaine?" She looks at her best friend hopefully.

"I can't do anything about it," Blaine glances sympathetically at her, his shoulders raised in a shrug. "She'll forgive you by next period, Rachel."

He kisses her cheek softly and then distractedly rifles through her bag lunch, pulling out a Ziploc bag of Oreos and a tangerine. "You going to eat these?"

Rachel shakes her head no and Blaine dumps the Oreos out into his hand, dropping the tangerine casually to the side. He pops the chocolate cookie off of one of the Oreos and starts scraping off the white cream with his teeth. Rachel rests her head on his shoulder and Blaine shifts his body up so she can lay more comfortably and closer to his head.

Rachel can feel Blaine's hot breath on her neck.

"You know Kurt told me he loved me yesterday." Blaine's voice is almost nonchalant but Rachel, having been best friends with Blaine for ten years can tell he's excited. "And then I told him I loved him back. And then I realized how really incredible love is and how really people waste an incredible amount of feeling when they just go up to random other people and say, 'I love you' without really meaning it."

Rachel sighs and tried to keep herself from crying.

"But I love you Rachel Barbra Berry," Blaine says softly as he starts eating the cream off another Oreo. His usually pristine teeth are stained with black marks from the chocolate cookies. Rachel smiles weakly and looks at him—he is absolutely adorable with his puddle of dark hair, expressive and thick eyebrows, and bright hazel-gold eyes. But of course he's also gay.

Blaine Anderson and Tina Cohen-Chang are Rachel's best—if not _only_—friends. She's known Blaine since the first grade. When he hit sixth grade he'd come out to Rachel, and Rachel knew and promised that she'd always love him, no matter what. Blaine hails from an incredibly uptight, traditionally devout Catholic family, and his parents are still blissfully unaware of his sexual preferences explaining why he has to date his boyfriend, Kurt, secretly. (Kurt has also been worming himself into Rachel's friend group, but right now he's off with his other friends at McKinley).

Tina, on the other hand, had hit it off rough at first with Rachel in their freshman year. To be completely honest, the girl is a little weird. She only wears black; her hair is streaked with sporadic marks of blue, and she radiates self-proclaimed feminism and independence. Tina's unnerving, sharp eyes has a way of digging deep into the soul; she tends to get along with very few people, especially because she is cripplingly shy with people she doesn't know. Eventually though, Rachel and Tina had worked out their differences and are now extremely good—even best—friends.

Rachel is jerked out of her reverie by the sound of someone clearing her throat. She looks up off of Blaine's shoulder to see Tina holding the tangerine Blaine had dropped. "Are you going to eat this?"

Rachel shakes her head no mutely.

"Good." Tina starts peeling the tangerine and sits back down next to Rachel, without another word. Rachel sighs, relieved.

"I love you _girlllllllls_," Blaine drawls casually and it is obvious that he means it.

And that is that.

**ooooo**

"Mom, can we go now?" Rachel whines as she stands impatiently next to her mother. Her thoughts drift to what she could be doing on a Sunday afternoon—well what she _could _be doing if she wasn't in this Godforsaken cemetery. "Please? Blaine wanted to go see a movie with me."

"Rachel." Shelby's voice is firm and serious and sharp, and Rachel cringes because she knows she's hurt her mother. "Respect your father, please."

"I'm sorry." Rachel flops dejectedly onto the grass. "It's just kind of hard to appreciate when you don't remember the person at all," she points at the marble headstone.

Shelby doesn't answer, but crumples down on her knees next to the stone marker. She presses her fingers gently in the engraving, reading the simple words she'd read so many times already.

_Hiram Berry_

_(1970-1998)_

_You Will Be Missed_

Rachel stares at her mom, a wave of sympathy washing over her. Of course Rachel wonders a lot about what it would be like to have a father, but since Hiram had passed when Rachel was only four, she can't remember him at all. Sometimes she has vague recollections of a dark-skinned man with the same dark hair Rachel has, with a dark beard that was scratchy and tickled her cheek, but otherwise, Hiram is nonexistent.

Either that, or Rachel just forgets too easily.

"He was a great man," Shelby's voice breaks and Rachel suddenly feels a rush of guilt. She hates it when her mother is sad. "I miss him a lot."

"I'm sorry, Mommy," Rachel stands up carefully and reaches to hug her mom.

Shelby squeezes Rachel's shoulder playfully, sniffling as she wipes a tear off her own face. "Okay baby, let's go."

Rachel links her hand in her mother's and they walk out of the cemetery together, leaving Hiram alone once more.

And all the while Rachel wishes she could cry for this man because he was her father. And all the while knowing that she can't cry and never will cry because she never knew him.

**ooo**

"Dad, is ravioli okay?" Finn calls from the kitchen when he hears the garage door of his house open.

Christopher Hudson walks in and whistles, his hands behind his head, as he stares at the mess Finn has made. "Gees, son, what were you up to?"

"Umm, I just got some food," Finn says without looking at his dad, ripping the bag of ravioli open and dropping a few pieces into a boiling pot of water. He turns and points at the grocery bags that litter the kitchen. "We seriously had _no _food in the refrigerator so I just took my last paycheck, cashed it, and bought food." He takes the lid off the pot of tomato sauce which is heating up to his right, smells it, and turned the fire up. He stirs the sauce carefully. "So is it okay?"

"Uh… what did you say, son?" Christopher asks, turning around in the kitchen as he starts picking up the plastic bags scattered around the kitchen.

"Ravioli. Well it has to be okay because I already started making it," Finn ladles out one piece of pasta, bites in, and throws it back into the pot. "They're chicken and spinach and we have Parmesan cheese somewhere in there," he points without turning around to the pantry.

"Yeah, sounds good." Christopher has finished picking up all the bags and cramming them into a drawer already full of bags. He stands up and stretches, running a hand through his thinning hair. "So, son, you ready for the game Friday?" He is referring to the homecoming game against Garfield—a school a little north of McKinley.

"Yeah," Finn grins as he grabs a nearby potholder and a strainer. He puts the strainer in the sink and pours the ravioli into it, letting the water seep through the cracks. "Born ready, Dad. We're going to win, aren't we? Well we have to win championships—we're really good this year," he absentmindedly takes two bowls from Christopher's outstretched hand, "and you're coaching us so we can't go wrong."

"Eh," Christopher makes an indistinguishable noise, and Finn pauses for a second as he puts a few pieces of ravioli into the bowls. He makes a motion for his dad to bring him the pot of tomato sauce and Christopher willingly obliges.

"What's 'eh?'" Finn says, starting to feel uncomfortable as he spoons tomato sauce onto the ravioli. His dad isn't conceited but he is honest. If Christopher believes in something, he'll say it—and he isn't saying that he thinks McKinley will win. "Don't you think we're good?"

"I think we could do better," Christopher answers as he put two forks on the eight-seat table and sits down. Finn slides in next to his father, pushing a bowl of ravioli in front of him. "I think we could do a lot better," Christopher says again, rubbing his chin and feeling the brown stubble. His dark, almost black eyes meet Finn's brown ones.

Finn tenses and the piece of pasta he's eaten starts to feel uncomfortably large in his stomach. He pushes away his plate and walks away from the table, his heart lurching in his chest and his mind awash with nausea.

It is a far from unfamiliar feeling but it hits him hard everytime. _Fear._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Review for more! I will reply to all reviews (if they can be replied to with more than a "thank you" lol). And end chapter one! Eeeep!

Replies to anonymous reviews:

_bueller_: Thank you so much for your review! Haha Shelby is a difficult character and I've never written her before but I really needed a mother figure for Rachel, so here goes nothing!

_emily_: Here's more! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

_FinchelSamAreHeaven4me_: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this chapter

_FinchelFan278_: And the issues will only get more difficult lol c: thanks for reading-I hope you enjoy it!

(And Christopher is Finn's father, eh?)

-sf


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: WAHHH! Sorry guys! I'm sorry this is such a late update but I've been so busy with school. I'm going to try to get around to updating a few of my stories this week. I've also been really busy reading _The Hunger Games_ lol. What did you guys think of the mid-season finale of _Glee?_

Things you should notice: this is completely AU. I'm going to use some of the characters characteristics on _Glee _but as you will see everything is different. I hope you enjoy regardless!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters of _Glee. _I do own this plotline

**Summary**: What happens if nobody believes you except the one person who shouldn't? When a girl is raped, conflict arises and she falls for the enemy. Humankind disappoints us repeatedly but love is like the stars and saves us everytime. Finchel AU

**Warning**: language, rape, sexual abuse, self-harm, bullying, etc.

**Rating**: M

**Pairing**: Finn/Rachel Finchel

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO<strong>

_the betrayal of trust carries a heavy taboo_

_-Aldrich Ames_

* * *

><p>McKinley is plastered with posters. Streams of white and bright red ribbons hang from the ceilings of every classroom; there are "SUPPORT MCKINLEY FOOTBALL" posters on the bathroom doors, "See McKinley's Sexiest Team" flyers in the student mailboxes (much to the disgust of McKinley's basketball and soccer team), and "McKinley Football Men are BAMFs" posters—which are being rapidly torn down by the more conservative teachers but not as quickly as they are being replaced and put up again. Spirit week is huge. The excitement in the air is contagious; almost all of the members of the entire student body cannot wait for Homecoming as it comes closer and closer.<p>

Homecoming is huge. The game is, at least. Especially because it's rumored that McKinley will _flatten_ Garfield. The Cheerios have never practiced so hard. The football team has never been so tired and been written so many passes. The teachers have never had so many school brawls.

Girls are asking boys to the dance for that Saturday; boys are asking girls. There are the traditional methods of straightforward questions; there is the less traditional route of boys dressing up like gorillas or superheroes and presenting girls roses or bananas. There are the couples that don't even have to ask one another—it's a given that they're going together; there are the shy boys who finally muster up the courage to ask the girls of their dreams.

In all of the excitement, Rachel Barbra Berry stays quiet. She doesn't have a date to the dance—or at least a date that she _wants _(Jacob Ben Israel will get a yes from her when Hell freezes over). It's not that surprising though, Rachel has never had a date to these things, and the one boy that she wants is taken—Cheerio Captain Quinn Fabray with her clear skin and her impossibly long eyelashes makes sure of that as she flaunts herself into Finn's grasp. Rachel doesn't even know if she wants to go to the game. Tina refuses to go to either the dance or the game, saying that school spirit "restrains her freedom and makes her a slave to the public education system" and Blaine is going only to secretly meet up with Kurt.

While everybody else is consumed with excitement, Rachel can't possibly feel more alone.

**ooo**

Puck stands with his hands on his knees as he struggles to catch his breath. He pushed back his tousled, chocolate brown hair that lays flat when it's not spiked up in his trademark mohawk, and eyes Finn. "Y-your dad was friggin' insane today."

Finn wheezes, pushing a dirty hand through his now stringy, wet hair. Even though it's cold outside, his face still flames from the incredibly rigorous practice Christopher put the football team through. "I know."

"I can't even feel my legs," Puck moans as he slowly straightens his body, his face a twisted mask of discomfort at every move. "Ugh."

"Yeah man," Finn grabs his water bottle and chugs the entire thing effortlessly. Using up his remaining energy, he sends the water bottle flying into the trashcan. "Let's hit the showers."

"Sounds good." Puck nods as he heads towards the gym locker room. He turns and looks grimly at Finn. "Why was your dad so fucking intense today? Does he think we're gonna lose?"

"I don't know," Finn says with an offbeat shrug of his right shoulder. He drops his water bottle on the floor as he strips off his shirt and steps into the shower.

He says he doesn't know but as the strong blast of water hits him, he closes his eyes and wishes that he could forget.

**ooo**

It is the Friday of the Homecoming game and the excitement had risen to a level that Rachel didn't even think possible.

She sits quietly in front of her locker, scrawling out potential lyrics to a song into a notebook decorated with stars. Rachel carefully pens in an "I love you" underneath "What will it take you to notice me?" Frustrated, a tear slips out of the corner of one eye, and she hurriedly brushes it away before some Cheerio can come along and give her hell for being single and alone and a loser.

"Hey."

Rachel shuts her notebook, alarmed, and looked up to see no other than the object of her affection and the topic of her song himself. Finn grins easily, his lip almost drawn up in a smirk, his hand pressed against her locker. He bends down to crouch over her shoulder. "What are you writing?"

"Uh, nothing," Rachel murmurs hurriedly. She pulls the notebook protectively to her chest. "Just some homework problems."

Finn doesn't press or tease, he just gives her his good-natured smile, so Rachel figures he really hasn't seen her lyrics. Or the "I love Finn Hudson" on the corner of her notebook page. Well at least she really, really hopes he hasn't.

"You coming to our game?"

"Uh… I…maybe." Rachel tries to control the incredible beating of her heart. She avoids looking at his firm, strong hands because they make her feel queasy. Despite the fact he's a football guy, he has a guitarist's hands. Or a drummer's hands? Shaking the image of Finn's fingers wrapped around drumsticks out of her head, she focuses on what he's saying. She takes in a whiff of his cologne and tries to resist swooning.

"Good." He smiles, flashing his perfectly white teeth. Rachel can't tear her eyes from a freckle near his lips. "I'll see you there."

"Finn!" Puck gestures toward his friend. He doesn't bother to even give Rachel a glance. "Come on; let's go buy food."

"I'm coming," Finn says in an exasperated manner. He straightens himself up and walks off, giving Rachel an off-hand wave behind him.

_I'll see you there._

The words echo in Rachel's head and she suddenly realizes how truly excited she is for Homecoming. It's amazing how much emotion a single boy can instill in her.

In fact, a boy she hardly knows.

**ooo**

There's nothing worse than the feeling of regret growing hard in your throat. You swallow to get rid of it but it just remains there, dead and soulless. And it eventually slides down into your stomach and sits there like a dead weight.

Shelby stands in front of her house, her hand balanced precariously on her cold metal mailbox as if it's the only thing stabilizing her body and keeping it upright. She feels the tear slide slowly down her cheek, freezing in the cold air before it hits the collar of her blouse. She watches as Christopher drives his car to his house and feels like the seven feet have suddenly become a distance that could span the world.

**ooo**

Rachel bunches her hands up inside the pockets of her white jacket, pulling the furry hood closer to her body. _Damn._ Her mom has the car so it looks like she'll have to walk. Good thing McKinley isn't that far from her home.

Her shoes stab the street as she pass the Hudson house. She instinctively backs away when she sees the dark grey truck backing out of the driveway. She doesn't want to get nearly run over again.

The truck turns and Rachel looks through the fogged window at Christopher Hudson. He moves over to the right side of the car and rolls down the window.

"Hello Miss Vendeza!" he automatically saluted her and Rachel gives Finn's father an easy and slightly hesitant smile in return.

"Hey Coach Hudson." Rachel shivers, pulling her jacket more over her head.

"Where are you going?" Christopher taps his fingers against his steering wheel, reminding Rachel of Finn.

"Homecoming," Rachel states simply, as she rubs the top of her right shoe with her left shoe, trying to clean it. Her right shoe just becomes filthier and she sighs in defeat.

"Well I'm heading over there now; I just had to go back home real quick to get Finn an extra shoulder pad—do you want a ride?"

Rachel shrugs one shoulder. _Why not?_ "Yes Mr. Hudson, that would be lovely."

"Call me Chris," Christopher says, as he opens the car door. Rachel climbs in, noticing that Christopher's car is nothing like Finn's. There are no faded seats, no dream catchers, no scent of the woods. Christopher's car clashes with its hard, leather seats and the smell of sweat. Rachel finds herself idly wondering how such a simple, straightforward man has created such an incredible son.

She leans against the chair's hard back and shuts the door, strapping on her seatbelt. Then she turns and looks at Christopher, trying to hide her disappointment in him. How is he Finn's father? What does Shelby see in him? She finds herself not judging him by who he is but by who he isn't. Rachel smiles at him, wondering if she looks as fake as she feels.

Christopher pushes his foot down on the gas pedal and they start off on a steady pace. The car's wheels slide every so often on the wet streets, but Rachel feels secure with Christopher. Comfortable.

"So you excited to see this game?" Christopher asks as he adjusts his rearview mirror.

"Yeah," Rachel answers. "I mean, aren't we supposed to do a lot better than Garfield? Like really _destroy_ them?" She crinkles her nose; something smells like dirt and unwashed bodies and she really doesn't know what it is.

Christopher chuckles. "I don't know where these rumors keep coming from. We're doing alright, I guess."

Rachel calms herself down when she realized the smell is coming from Christopher. _Eww,_ she says to herself. She studies him out of the corner of her eye, noticing his unshaven face and his oily-looking hair.

This is strange.

Christopher, though the captain of the football team, is usually clean-cut. After all, Shelby doesn't fall for sleazy men.

Rachel shrugs Christopher's appearance off. Maybe she is just being difficult. After all, Christopher, obviously, could never live up to Finn's ultimate perfection. They can't even be compared even though they are father and son.

Christopher is generally clean cut with a rugged, wild, manly side. Finn was clean cut and pure—exciting and fast like a cold stream of water, with a sweet personality and a golden heart.

They shouldn't be compared.

Ever.

**ooo**

Shelby sobs frantically as she stands in the aisle of Whole Foods market. She throws a bag of garlic chips behind her back; she pushes past a bag of whole-wheat chips, searching frantically for chocolate covered sunflower seeds.

She scrounges in the back of the shelf until she finds them, buried behind bags of salt-free pretzels. Grabbing frantically, she clears out the shelf, taking all eight remaining bags. She grabs a jar of chocolate frosting for good measure.

As she checks out, the cashier looks at her a bit nervously. Shelby wonders if everybody can see how vulnerable she really was.

**ooo**

Rachel licks her lips nervously again as Christopher continues the drive. They are going into territory that is near her house, but not near McKinley. She'd thought she knew the way to McKinley quite well. Maybe she's wrong.

She's beginning to hope she's wrong. Severely wrong. Insanely wrong. Dread hits her in the stomach like a wet bag of cement.

"Uh, Coach Hudson?" she offers hesitantly as Christopher drives deeper into an area with small alleyways and wet sewers. "Are we going the right way?"

"Yes, Miss Berry, I have to stop and get something for the boys," Coach Hudson smiles. There's something off about it. Maniacal. Wrong. "Don't get your panties into a twist now."

_Don't get your panties into a twist now._

Rachel is surprised her heart doesn't stop beating. She feels her body tense and she looks over at Christopher, whose mouth is in a grim, straight line. Christopher never talks like this, he never looks like this, and there is something seriously wrong. Rachel breathes heavily as she looks outside the passing scenery outside and realizes what she has to do. She scrambles for the door handle, popping off her seatbelt.

"Rachel, what are you doing?" There is alarm racing in Christopher's voice as Rachel falls out of the car and onto the concrete. Her knees are scraped and bleeding through her grey leggings, but she gets up and starts off on a wild run, not looking back as the car screeches to a halt behind her.

She doesn't stop running when she hears the door slam behind her. She doesn't look back when the steady slap of Christopher's shoes hit the concrete as he chases her, pursuing her. Her heart slams hard in her chest, making her nauseous as Christopher shouts for her to stop.

She doesn't stop. Her steps only get more wild, her strides only larger as she runs from this man she thought she knew, but apparently doesn't at all.

And all the sudden, she's jerked back hard, the wind knocked out of her as she falls on her back against the concrete. Rachel tries to scream as she feels Christopher's large hand squeezing her wrist, his thick arm around her neck, and she's stunned by a harsh blow to her head. Reeling, she feels Christopher turn her around. Heavy hands on her delicate waist drag her back up to a standing position and her throat closes up in fear as she feels him grind up behind her, his jeans now encasing a painfully large bulge brushing against her backside.

_God no._

But God doesn't seem to hear her as Rachel has her leggings ripped down and her underwear trampled in the ground. Rachel struggles in Christopher's grasp, fighting desperately to escape, but Christopher jerks her head back with her hair. She tries to scream again, but Christopher slaps her hard across the face, stunning her into silence. Tears now streaming down her face, mixing with the light mascara she'd applied, Rachel becomes silent. Christopher snarls behind her, running his hands up her hips and squeezing her breasts viciously. She gasps and tries to jerk away again, her attempts fruitless in his grasp. Her stomach turns over as she hears the sound of a zipper being pulled down and the crackling noise of a condom wrapper.

With a thud, Rachel is slammed against the concrete; her head explodes with pain. She whimpers, but stops as Christopher slaps her hard across the face again.

"Listen, bitch," he hisses, leering close to her face. "You're going to enjoy this, you hear? You think I don't know you want this? Always with your short skirts and your tight leggings and your tight shirts—you've got everybody thinking you're a sweet girl but you're nothing but a whore. And you're gonna do your job, you hear?"

Rachel bites back a sob and closes her eyes as Christopher pulls the condom on. He pulls her bra strap hard so it snaps. He ignores Rachel's yelp of pain and grins sadistically, dragging his tongue in a slow pattern between her small breasts. Christopher glances at Rachel, his eyes glazed and full of lust before biting on one of her nipples so hard, Rachel screams.

"I told you to _shut the fuck up,_" Christopher growls. He fishes Rachel's panties from the ground and forces her mouth open, shoving them in. Rachel struggles and strains, thinking she might vomit, when her mind shrouds with pain again as she feels a finger pushed into her between her legs. She screams and screams, her hysterical cries muffled by the cloth in her mouth.

Christopher heaves himself above her, pulling his finger out. His erection is terrifying large as he positions himself in front of her entrance. Then, with a grunt, Christopher slams into her. He begins thrusting rhythmically, filling the air with his guttural moans, his eyes closed in a sick ecstasy as he pushes in faster and harder.

Rachel has forgotten how to scream.

"So _tight_," Christopher's voice groans above her, in a different world. Rachel has stopped crying, her brain refusing to focus on anything but the agony that overwhelms her. She didn't know that anything could hurt this badly.

She turns her head to the side, allowing her cheek to rest against the cement, a tear trickling from her eye as she looks at the hazy outline of the building in front of her. Graffitied onto the wall in black paint are the words "Anything is possible." Her throat closes up and she sobs silently, knowing nobody will hear her. Knowing she is truly alone in the world.

Rachel still cannot scream. Her brain frantically yells at her, begging her to cry out, to lash out, to do _something_, but her body remains motionless, trapped underneath the weight of this _man, _her trusted neighbor, Finn's _dad_, above her. All the years of knowing Christopher Hudson has come to a screeching halt.

"_Fuck,_" Christopher moans, his breath framed in the air above her. His unshaven face crumples into a look of sadistic bliss. His thrusts become less rapid, and now are agonizingly slow. He grunts as he climaxes, his face awash with lust and he pulls roughly out of her, making Rachel gasp. A trail of blood escapes from between Rachel's legs; her broken, battered body lies prone on the ground. Her hands clench close and she now sobs openly, freely, not even looking up as Christopher's car rattled off.

Everything has changed.

**ooo**

The two blocks home are the longest distance she has ever walked.

**ooo**

Shelby ravenously stuffs a spoon of chocolate frosting into her mouth, her tears threatening to spill over. She sits inside her car parked outside of her house, staring at the Hudson home next door.

"Damn it," she mutters under her breath, and then louder, "DAMN IT!"

She punches the steering wheel, the sound of her horn only inciting more emotion. She glared at her reflection in her side mirror and then suddenly, her face crumples like a piece of flimsy origami. Sobbing hysterically, she clambers out of her car, leaving the door open. Her fingers fumble with her keys to her home and after five tries, she manages to open the door to her house. Crying, she slams the door of her house and falls against the wooden door, whimpering softly. Tears mix with her painstakingly applied mascara, running in black streaks down her face.

She drops her frosting to the side and looked up, her eyes brimming over.

"I am so tired of this," she whispers softly, her only audience the wooden floor in front of her. "Just end it. End it."

Shelby's thoughts drift and she shuts her eyes hard and tries to gather herself together. She leans over to pick up her can of frosting and sees Rachel's faded shoes next to the door.

_Rachel's shoes._ Rachel must have come home early. _But why?_

Shelby braces herself for the worst. Homecoming disaster, no friends there, McKinley lost. Shelby wipes the tears from her face, not caring that her mascara has smeared everywhere. She has a purpose now. She has to be a mother, and she'll listen to her daughter's problems no matter how petty they are. "Rachel?"

There is no answer.

"Rachel?" Shelby asks cautiously as she treads up the stairs. She heads for her daughter's room, but finds the pink-walled room eerily empty. The silence is unbelievably loud, and Shelby begins to feel uncomfortable in hr own home. "Rachel?"

Her heart is beating faster now; Rachel always answers when Shelby calls for her, even when they're fighting. Something unbelievably bad must have happened. "Rachel?"

Suddenly, the frosting decides to take this time to wrack its revenge on her. Her stomach twists in pain, and Shelby runs for the bathroom. Only to find it locked.

"Rachel?" Shelby calls frantically, knocking on the door. "You almost done? I have to use the bathroom."

There is no answer.

"_Rachel Barbra Berry! _Did you hear me, young lady? Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

Silence.

"Rachel, open this door right now!"

Sighing in frustration, Shelby pulls a bobby pin out of her hair and picks the lock, shoving it open. "Rachel, why weren't you-"

She stops. Her heart feels like it had dropped into her stomach, and she stares, fixated at the scene—no, the horror—in front of her. Rachel, clad only in a pair of dark panties and a white bra, sits shuddering in the bathtub, looking straight ahead. Her body shivers sporadically as the water rains down on her from the showerhead. The door of the shower is open so that water spews onto the tile floor. Rachel's brown hair is stringy and dripping; the water level has risen almost up to her elbows. Shelby's eyes trail over her daughter's body; she takes in the scratch marks across Rachel's chest that she guesses and almost hopes are self-inflicted wounds.

Shelby's head spins; she feels like throwing up. Taking a deep breath to steady her unsteady breathing, she looks at her daughter. "Rachel, what happened?"

Her daughter doesn't answer, but lets the water of the shower continue to beat down on her, her empty, hollow eyes still fixed ahead. Silently, Rachel pulls her legs closer to her chest.

"Rachel?" Shelby struggles to breathe normally; she steps forward and shuts off the water, which she realized is freezing. Rachel must have been in here for close to an hour. "Rachel?" Shelby reaches forward to grasp her daughter's shoulder.

With an inhuman scream, Rachel jerks away from her mom and clambers clumsily out of the water, her movements animal-like as she tries to pull herself into the corner of the bathtub, as far away from Shelby as she can get.

"Rachel," Shelby's voice breaks with pain as she reaches over to touch her daughter again.

Rachel's sobs are ragged and empty. She flinches as her mom touches her shoulder; her whole body stiffens with fear. But then, her cries became less vocal, quieter, and she allows herself to crawl into her mother's arms like the child she is.

Shelby's clothes are soaked now; she wades in the bathtub full of water, and pulled Rachel close, ignoring the frigid temperature. Rachel's body slackens and she sobs openly, her body heaving, into her mom's shoulder.

"Rachel, what happened?" Shelby manages to choke out, her voice hitching with concern.

"Oh Mommy," Rachel whimpers, as she clutches her mom closer, "Mommy, he raped me."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: GAHHH this was so hard to write. I hope I did it justice.

Replies to anonymous reviews:

_Bueller: _And so you picked up on Christopher's shadiness. I hope this was enough drama for you. ahhhh

_onlykote_: Thanks so much for the feedback! I'm sorry I've tortured Rachel so much but I hope you're enjoying it!

_Ianthe_: well I guess your question about their parents being nice can be answered with this chapter... eeep

_FinchelFan728_: I'm glad! i hope you keep reading!

_comegetit_: Agh. I hope I did the rape scene justice... thanks for reading and reviewing!

_sammystump_: wow I appreciate the feedback so much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And your question was answered... eep it was a yes, unfortunately!

Story Favs: 15

Story Alerts: 51

Story Hits: 8,035

-sf


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